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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23627968">certain rots are sweeter than others</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedmachinery/pseuds/icedmachinery'>icedmachinery</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine'>icemachine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doom Patrol (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Platonic Cuddling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:20:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23627968</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedmachinery/pseuds/icedmachinery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s working towards new life. The Negative Spirit and Lawrence Trainor as one. They’re getting there.</p><p>“Five minutes. I can’t believe it,” he says, to the Spirit and to himself. “I can’t believe we made it that long.”</p><p>There’s a crackle in his chest. He wants it to mean "I’m proud of us."</p><p>(Or: Larry and Keeg comfort each other.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keeg Bovo &amp; Larry Trainor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>certain rots are sweeter than others</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <a href="https://ragewrites.tumblr.com/post/188390605614/lushbian-wow-okay-i-know-this-is-meant">title from this wonderful post.</a>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been Larry’s first time seeing the Spirit—-not on a monitor while being held captive by the United States government, but his first time seeing the Spirit in front of him as reality bled vivid into his surroundings; the Spirit in front of him, crackling, abstract &amp; wondrous. The Negative Spirit, grasping his face and jaw rough-serene, a welcome invasion of the mind, an unwelcome memory of the ANT Farm. Apparently it knew Flex Mentallo, intimately enough to understand the key that unlocked the spiral of his memories, and - it was six months ago, buried so deep in the past, but: the Negative Spirit. In his bedroom, his sanctuary. And Larry can still remember what it felt like, when it touched him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt white-hot, like crash-landing in the California fields again, on fire again, burning again, except this time it had been a voluntary char; the Spirit touches like it can set a thousand planets ablaze, like a mere brush of its form against you can melt your essence &amp; reform you into something mythical; legendary; </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A craved holiness that cannot be explained in words. A touch that cannot be explained in words. Larry has never been good with words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Larry has never been good at anything. Flying airplanes was an escape mechanism; the only skills Larry held were developed out of necessity. To keep himself safe. To keep his identity - the </span>
  <em>
    <span>true </span>
  </em>
  <span> Larry Trainor - a secret, hidden away from the world, stitched up and shoved away </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough to allow Larry to continue working. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fear. The lying. The—-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have to do that here. The Spirit doesn’t care. It is alien and, as such, even after swimming in Larry’s mind for sixty years, most likely can’t understand why a man loving a man was seen as such a terrible thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Larry is starting to—-)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five minutes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Five minutes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Five minutes,” he breathes, pulling himself off of the grass, staring at the stopwatch like it’s in an ancient text. Five minutes. They made it five minutes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How did they make it five minutes?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Larry had been—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Larry is starting to—)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—gazing at it, as it soared through the skies. The Spirit had reached down and entered the water briefly—-</span>
  <em>
    <span>odd, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Larry thought, as it seems to be electric, but the Spirit is always blooming surprise, the Spirit works beyond comprehension, and it had flown out of the lake twirling patterns, reminding him of an artist’s masterpiece or perhaps a renowned ice dancer, entirely graceful and - and - he cannot think of any word beyond </span>
  <em>
    <span>graceful, </span>
  </em>
  <span>cannot bring himself to admit that he does see the beauty in the Spirit’s form.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is, after all, the thing that tormented him. For decades. He should still hate it, should </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>have been entranced so easily—-</span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>night with your former lover and suddenly it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>pal, fella—-</span>
  </em>
  <span>there is so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>history—</span>
  </em>
  <span>-but Larry knows that the embedded pain can also be blamed on himself. He is certainly not innocent here. He has never been innocent. (But Larry is starting to—-)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s working towards new life. The Negative Spirit and Lawrence Trainor as one. They’re getting there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe it,” he says, to the Spirit and to himself. “I can’t believe we made it that long.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a crackle in his chest. He wants it to mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m proud of us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both feel a slice, at the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Larry’s small shack with Rita isn’t home, but the manor can’t be home either. Not after what Niles Caulder did, not after the suffering he inflicted, </span>
  <em>
    <span>never again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(—he’s starting to—)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slams the door open, doesn’t mean to, and scoffs when Rita scolds him for it. “We made it five minutes,” says Larry, and he twirls, again without meaning to, somehow mimicking the Spirit’s turns over the water, over and over, above the water, twirling wonder into Larry’s mind, always wonder. She smiles - he thinks it is genuine - and congratulates them - he thinks it is genuine - and leaves for another day at school.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how she does it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Larry rests, lies down on their couch, turns on their shitty old TV. He hasn’t seen this episode of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Antiques Roadshow </span>
  </em>
  <span>yet; it’s ridiculous, what some people think is worth money. Larry himself would probably count as an antique; old, fragile, immortal. Like many of these objects, he will go on forever, relentless. Unlike many of these objects, he will go on forever, relentless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything reminds him of—-of—-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of—--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Larry is starting to—-)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can feel the anger begin to rise. The one man he trusted implicitly is the reason he is this monster—-</span>
  <em>
    <span>no, not a monster, neither of them are monsters—-if anything Niles is the monster—-</span>
  </em>
  <span>is the reason that his grotesque personality became a grotesque appearance—-</span>
  <em>
    <span>no—-</span>
  </em>
  <span>is the reason that he has no way out—-</span>
  <em>
    <span>NO—-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niles Caulder ruined his life. That is a fact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>….</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>….</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>….</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Larry feels like a child. He wants—-</span>
  <em>
    <span>craves—-</span>
  </em>
  <span>comfort. He’s allowing himself to want comfort. He’s allowing himself to believe that he deserves it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he curls up in the fetal position. It’s uncomfortable, on this couch, but—-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. No—--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sits back up to stare at it again, sheepishly; the Negative Spirit stands in front of him, sits down next to him, somehow pressed into the surface. Its body brushes against Larry &amp; feels like—-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It holds out its hand and, without thinking, Larry takes it. The Spirit interlocks their fingers; an entirely human gesture, like: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I understand. I do. I’m here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You will always have me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Larry isn’t sure if they can make it five minutes again. He doesn’t know if his body can take it. But his body also feels serene, peaceful, and the peace is accompanied by a greater terror because Larry is starting to—-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It feels good,” he says, “when you touch me. I — like it.” A pause. “That doesn’t sound right. I don’t mean it like that. I just—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It feels like—-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like touching divinity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t say that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Spirit shakes its head; </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut up. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It moves their entwined hands into Larry’s lap, rests it there, and puts its other arm around Larry’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is </span>
  <em>
    <span>holding </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(It feels like touching divinity.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(The Spirit is not divinity. It is familiar, and rough, and bold. The Spirit is the only person that will ever truly know him.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Larry is starting to—-)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s an awkward position, and frightening, but Larry leans into it, accepts everything. This situation is meaningful. He did not ever imagine himself on good terms with the Negative Spirit, nor did he ever imagine himself physically embracing it, but he accepts it now, as the comfort he desired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re getting there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(—</span>
  <em>
    <span>home.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Larry is starting to think of it as home.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(It is terrifying.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(They’re getting there.)</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>god it's 4am idk what this is<br/>kudos+comments very appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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